Reflections on a New Life
by Christina Simon
Summary: Crucible fic. Elizabeth Proctor moves on as best she can. A short, simple, sweet look at her radically altered future.


Disclaimer: I do not own Arthur Miller's _The Crucible_.

A/N: After playing Elizabeth Proctor my sophomore year last fall, I decided to write this epilogue to Elizabeth's life as I saw it playing out. Any inaccuracies can be chalked up to a) my mistakes and b) creative license. Please, enjoy.

* * *

"He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him." 

I watched as my husband made his slow ascent up the hill to where the rope waited. Everyone in the village had gathered for the eerie spectacle and I hoped, as I saw the many young faces of the crowd, that my poor children were not amongst them.

Reverend Hale, beside me, had taken to weeping. Yet my tears had dried from a brush of John Proctor's hand. I had none left to weep. He had taken them from me as an angel from sorrows.

The rope tightened around his neck, and I shuddered. I put a hand on my belly to soothe the horrors away and held it firmly as I clutched the window-ledge.

And in a moment, he was gone. My throat tightened, I heard a voice cry out, and darkness.

* * *

Awakening, I felt the hot, itchy, prickling of the straw beneath me and vaguely wondered where I was. Someone had placed a pillow under my heavy head. Yes, it was hot. It was going to be a deathly hot day in Salem, few and far between though they had been this year. 

"Goody Proctor."

Someone's voice. Quiet, male. "John?" I asked, unwilling to open my eyes.

"Elizabeth … no."

John is not gone. He's here, waiting for me. He will kiss me softly on the forehead and touch my belly and tell me _good morning, Elizabeth, it's a beautiful day_ –

"Elizabeth."

- _Jonathan's friend Samuel Nurse came to play today, they've gone to Rebecca's_ -

"Goody Proctor, please, wake."

- _and I have much work to finish ... I loveyou_ -

"It's John Hale."

I opened my eyes. "What is it," I murmured, barely audible. My lips and mouth felt like sandpaper.

"It seems the Lord has answered one of my prayers at last. You're free. I be ready and willing to bring you home right now."

Unbelievably, I smiled. "Home? No … dear Reverend, I have no home."

He sighed, his bloodshot eyes making contact with mine. "I must beg your forgiveness, Goody Proctor, I myself deserve a rope round my neck. I've a wife and two children at home who should scorn me upon my return, as I am worthy of fatherhood and husbandry no longer. I've stolen so much from so many, especially you, Goody Proctor. If there is any favor you may ask of me, pray, ask it."

Each breath I took felt like lead emerging from my chest and sinking inside me. "You did your duty, sir. I cannot give my forgiveness to one who needs it not." It was too much effort to speak more. "I want to see my children and I want to sleep." I closed my eyes again.

* * *

I have half-remembrances of my arrival at the Nurse home, of many soups and drinks of water, of pails for when the pain doubled over and I felt I would choke. 

On my better days my children, my three boys would visit me, and we would kiss and embrace and speak of the fun they had with the children, what fun they could have in such somber times. We did not attend church. There was no honorable church to attend.

As the babe grew, I grew stronger, and I was prepared for the arrival of my new son as he screamed and I held him close to me, and as I whispered that I would like to name him John.

I never returned to his farm. The ground, the air, the smells … all had belonged to him and to me, and I was not certain I could ever face them again.

So I had it sold. We had the boys' things and my treasured possessions brought over to our new, smaller home near the Nurse's. We started a small garden of herbs and vegetables, and we had enough food and money to last us the first three years of our new lives.

All of this was managed by a man named William Rogers. A man of good name in Boston, good spirit and abundant heart, who in his generosity married me, took in my four children and gave us a second chance at life. We moved to Boston shortly after, where he practiced law.

I resolved firmly in my heart to be a better wife to him than I was to my John. Indeed, I could never love William in the same way I had John, but I like to think I made him much happier than I ever made John. Sarah and Michael were born to William and me, and my life was peaceful. I was content.

I missed him sometimes. I missed the way he would kiss me after he'd had a good meal, the gentle strength he had when he held me, his laughter playing with his children. He was a good man. He was mine. I loved him. I longed every day for him to hold me again, just once more, as we had held each other on the morn we said goodbye.

No, I could never love anyone else but him. And yet his presence was all around me, every day, leading me to happiness gently with the promise that someday we would meet again.

_fin_


End file.
